of memories

memories -
they're not dragons
to be slayed
in the dark caves
of your mind,
they're not strings
that tether you
to a past
that begs
to be buried or forgotten,
they're tiny boxes
taken down
from the attic,
to be opened
with tears sometimes
strewn all around you,
things you don't want
to pick up or dust off,
but just marvel at
for their
relentless persistence;
shards of magic
like bubbles rising
always
towards the light,
from your every breath,
in the blue depths
of your being,
reminding you
of your place
in this cosmic breath,
keeping you here
and alive.